


Paul Stamets Doesn't Sing.

by alliemack30



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Beatles?, Friendship, LOTS of Randomness, M/M, Pre Canon, SPOILER ALERT: He sings., Singing, There will be singing, fluff and nonsense kinda? but with a plot, pre relationship kinda, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliemack30/pseuds/alliemack30
Summary: "What'd you sing?" Straal stage whispered, the samples on this lab table forgotten. Paul glared at him and shook his head vehemently."I sing nothing. Get back to work.""Come on. Showtunes? Rap? The Blues?"Paul felt the tips of his ears turning red. "Shut up."**inspired by the long Star Trek hiatus and Anthony saying he wants to sing in Season 2. ;) **





	Paul Stamets Doesn't Sing.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since Paul Stamets mentioned his uncle's Beatles cover band this has been swimming around, and it got kicked into overdrive when Anthony said he wanted to sing in season 2. Couldn't help it, pals ;)

 

The comm buzzed again, indicator light flashing red.  
  
"You should probably answer that," Straal called from across the lab, eyes never leaving the samples in the vial in front of him. "Whoever it is, they're just going to keep calling if you don't."  
  
Paul jabbed the "ignore" button for the third time without lifting his head.  "They'll get the hint."  
  
Straal scoffed. "Sure they will.” He lifted his head up, eyebrows quirking at his partner. “Who are you so intent on ignoring, anyway?” His eyes flashed mischievously. “Your handsome doctor, perhaps?”

Paul felt the heat rise on his skin, and bent himself further over the workstation to hide the blush on his face.

“We’ve been on two dates. He’s not _my_ anything.” 

He heard Straal snicker. “That’s not what your face says. Why haven’t you called _him_ yet, anyway?”

Irritated, Paul lifted his head to glare at his partner.  “Why are _you_ so nosy about it?” 

Straal shrugged. “Just _curious,_ my friend. Anyone who drags Paul Stamets away from the ‘shrooms more than once must be _something.”_

 “I’ve been busy being one of the pre-eminent scientists in the field of astromycology,” Paul said snappishly, tapping the console in front of him for emphasis. “Life’s work, and everything. Which you _know,_ being the _other_ one.”

Straal rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the other one that happens to go out and get _laid_ once in a while,” he muttered.

Paul jerked his head up indignantly, eyes narrowing. “Hey--”

“Sorry, sorry!” Straal lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I forgot, not in front of the mushrooms.” He paused. “I really don’t get it though. I mean, you never go out with _anyone._ Handsome doctor man annoys the shit out of you once at a cafe, and you can’t stop talking about it for _weeks._ You’re really not going to follow that up?” 

Paul closed his eyes, counting backwards in his head to clamp down on the sudden flush of irritation threatening to lash out at his partner.  He normally didn’t have a problem keeping up the snarky laboratory banter with Straal--it was part of the reason they worked so well together, and why no one else _could_ work with them--but this was a tender thread he did not want to pull today.

“Look, it's just not the right time, okay?” He ground out. “We are on the verge of a breakthrough, and there isn’t time to get into anything right now.” The comm buzzed again, and he slapped the button without looking at it.

“It would never work, anyway,” he muttered, opening his eyes and focusing back on the PADD in his hands. “He’s about to be shipped out on a starship to god knows where, and he’s probably going to meet billions of other brilliant, horrible opera loving creatures that don’t mind that obnoxious humming. So, better to let it die now.”

 Straal’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Did you just call him _brilliant?”_

Paul jerked his head up. “Really? _That’s_ what you got from that?”

“Doling out compliments on another being’s intelligence?” Straal smirked at him. “Now I _know_ you’re smitten, Mr. Stamets.”

His face flushed red. “I am NOT _smitten,”_ Paul snapped. “I--”

The PADD in his hands began to buzz incessantly, startling him so much he nearly dropped it. Gripping it tightly, he stabbed his finger at the waiting icon to read the flood of messages.

  
  
_Got a minute?_  
  
Are you free tonight??  
  
Paul, pick up.

 __  
  
The comm buzzed.  
  
"How's that ignoring thing working out for you, partner?" Straal drawled.  
  
Paul dropped the PADD on the desk and slapped his hand on the comm’s "accept call" button.  The holographic image of his uncle Everett swam to life in front of him, relief flooding his face when he saw Paul. Behind the image, Paul saw Straal roll his eyes and turn back to the samples in front of him.

 

" _Paul! Finally, we've been trying to reach you all day--"  
_

  
"I know," he cut in, annoyed. "I have work to do. Please stop calling." He reached for the disconnect button, but his uncle waved his hands emphatically.

  
  
" _Paul, wait! We have a show tonight and our McCartney is sick."_

 __  
  
Paul froze, eyes flicking to Straal's workstation. His dark-haired partner had returned his focus back to his vials, engrossed in his work and didn't appear to have heard. Apparently, Paul’s personal life held no interest when it didn’t involve the possibility of him getting laid. _Thank god for small fucking favors._  
  
"I can't help you," Paul said quickly, voice lowered. "Stop calling."

  
" _Paul, please. I promise you, I wouldn't be asking if we weren't desperate. It took us months to convince them to give us a shot."_ His voice took on a wheedling tone. " _Don't you miss it?"_

 __  
  
"If by "it" you mean watching drunken idiots screaming for Freebird in the middle of your set, then no."

  
  
_"It won't be like that. Didn't your mother tell you about it? It’s a tribute show! True fans only!"_

 __  
  
Paul rolled his eyes. "I haven't talked to her. And I don't even LIKE The Beatles."

  
  
" _But you LIKE to sing. I know you do. You used to do it all the time--"_

 __  
  
Straal's head snapped up.  
  
"---in high school," Paul interjected quickly. "10 years ago." He caught Straal's wide eyes from across the lab.  
  
_You_ **SING**? Straal mouthed, a delighted grin spreading over his face. Paul ignored him.  
  
"I don't sing," he said flatly.

  
  
" _Yes, you do!_ " The hologram insisted. " _You could have gone into music if you weren't so obsessed with those mushrooms--"_

 __  
  
Paul scowled and reached for the disconnect button. "Bye, Uncle Everett."

  
  
_"Wait! Wait, Paul I'm sorry. Please."_ His uncle clasped his hands together imploringly. "I _promise you I'll never ask again. Just this once."_

 __  
  
"What'd you sing?" Straal stage whispered, the samples on this lab table forgotten. Paul glared at him and shook his head vehemently.  
  
"I sing nothing. Get back to work."  
  
"Come on. Showtunes? Rap? The Blues?"  
  
Paul felt the tips of his ears turning red. "Shut up."

  
  
" _Paul, are you still there?"_

 __  
  
"Yes," he snapped, turning his attention back to his uncle's image. “The answer is no. Sorry. I have work to do.” Paul slapped the disconnect button before his uncle could protest. The image of his uncle flickered out, only to be replaced by Straal’s grinning face on the other side of the display.

“Don’t,” Paul said warningly.

“Don’t what?”

“Say whatever smartass thing you are about to say.”

Straal held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Who, me?” If possible, the grin on his face grew even wider. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out your lab partner is the second coming of John Lennon. So, you’re not going to do it?”

 “Of course not,” Paul snorted, narrowing his eyes. “Because I. Don’t. Sing.”

“But. You. Do,” his partner mimicked. He rolled his eyes. “Apparently.”

  
Paul gritted his teeth. “It was _high school_ and I needed an arts credit.”

Straal shrugged. “Coulda taken ceramics.” He cocked his head at his partner, face suddenly serious. “I think you should do it.”

Paul didn’t dignify that insane thought with a response, and tried to focus every atom of his attention on the PADD in front of him.  He’d learned, rather painstakingly, that if he was ignored long enough Straal _usually_ left well enough alone.

Usually.

“Come on,” Straal wheedled. “It would get you out of the lab, for _once_ , which you _sorely_ need. You’ve been here every night for, like, 2 weeks. You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap if you don’t get some down time.” He raised an eyebrow. “Plus, I hear handsome doctors really go for the musical types.”

Paul slammed down the PADD on the console, finally at his breaking point. “ _Why_ do you care so much?” He burst out. “Why does my personal life have _any bearing_ on you, whatsoever?”

 “I don’t know Paul,” Straal snapped back. “Maybe I’m just bored. Or _maybe_ you are my friend and despite being a _colossal ass_ , I actually care about your life and well-being?”

Paul didn’t know what to say to that. Before he could reply, Straal was already turning back to his console, muttering disparagingly under his breath.  

_Well done, Paul._

 He picked up the PADD, taking a moment to make sure he hadn’t cracked it before pulling up the messages from his uncle. With a quick swipe he deleted them all.

He tried not to look at the string of messages left in the inbox, marked from a Dr. H. Culber.

For a few tense minutes the only sound in the lab was the tap of his fingers on the screen, fingertips jabbing the glass with more force than necessary. He tried to focus on the figures in front of him, but his mind kept drifting maddeningly away, frustration throbbing at his temples.

“Do it, and I will never bring up the good doctor ever again.”

Paul closed his eyes.  “Stop it.” His hands tightened around the PADD again. “I mean it.”

“So do I,” Straal retorted. He waited until Paul looked up at him before he continued. “Do it, and I will never bother you about anything related to your love life ever again. _Including_ your handsome doctor.”

Paul sent him the best icy glare he could muster, but Straal stared back at him, unfazed.

“A lifetime promise to _never_ bother you again about your limited and sad social life. How can you pass that up, Stamets?”

“Easily,” he snapped. “Mostly because I don’t believe you.”

Straal sighed, and snapped himself to almost military attention and raised a hand. “I solemnly swear never to bother my best friend and mushroom partner about any current and future doctors he may be madly in love with should he take two hours of his day and sing a few classic Earth songs.” He raised his eyebrows at Paul. “Do you want it in writing?”

Paul clenched his hands, breathing deeply to keep them from shaking  around the PADD. “If I say no, are you going to bother me _every day_ about this?”

“Til the day I die, probably.”

He closed his eyes. In the corner of his mind, a steady hum had started to build, a song stuck in his head that he hadn’t been able to shake in weeks.

He’d always hated that fucking opera.

“Fine,” he spit out, opening his eyes to glare at his dark-haired partner.

 

“But I do want it in writing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really couldn't help this one. 
> 
> There isn't alot of character development for Straal, so I kind of based him off of my sometimes irritating, but well meaning, little brothers. Lots of annoying bickering, but looking out for you all the same. 
> 
> Hopefully posting chapter 2 soon (this won't be a long one), but reviews make the words flow faster! ;)


End file.
